For the Ancestors!
Far in the north, beyond the North Sea, laid upon the Lyngen Alps, the glacial temperatures that could scare anyone away. Snow coated fields and sprouting ice flowers as far as the eye could see. Here laid Norway, a Kingdom whose heritage owed to Harald Fairhair, it's first King. The People of Norway were accostumed to the freezing climate of Scandinavia and it's snows storms, their ancestors were feared for their brutish and relentless might, staving off invader and conquering lands beyond the great blue sea. It's Kingdom was a lasting representation of the stubborn norse, the pride of their lands. The King that lay upon the norwegian throne commanded fearless troops whose lasting impression marked the old world with magnificent and fantastical tales, tales that would spread from England to India, stories and rumours of horned heathens. The waning legacy of the Vikings does not however make a land, for, even after adopting christian practices and customs, the Aesir and Vanir were still in the memory of it's peoples. Warriors would still be celebrated in the eternal battle to come at the halls of Valhalla and Priests were still found with Priestesses in olden wooden temples.
In 1066, Harald Hadrada, King of Norway, lead his troops on English shores. Far from his homeland, the old king claimed the throne that the treacherous Harold Godwinson laid. The two rival kings would meet face-to-face on the fateful Battle of Stamford Bridge, Harold Godwinson, King of the Anglo-Saxons, approached the Norwegian King, boldly exclamating that the Norwegians would be spared if they returned. Harald, in spite of his new found respect for his opponent, defied the Anglo-saxon king and fought the English thegns. In the Aftermath of the Battle Harald would survive despite severely wounded by one lucky arrow from an english bow. With their Leader Incapacitated, Olaf, son of Harald, signed a truce with the Anglo-Saxon King. The Norwegians were allowed to retreat undeterred and their incapacitated leader would return to Norway alive.
Eric the Red, a man exiled from his land, adorning his blood red hair and an daring attitude, gathered some 300 men on to wooden vessels and set sail westward. Across the Misty sea they called
Útsjór. The deep blue divide that cut across was not unfamiliar to Eric's crew, but it's distant unsavoury nature made them restless. It was a gamble, a hope, it mirrored their own ancestors who they respected and praised the most. Not long, one after another gulls appeared, the deep blue turned lighter, the salty air became fresh. It had caught them in one gasp. Land was found. The sparkling clear water and rocky incline, crowned in a rainbow. The bearded and rough men were in paradise,
"Was this our famed afterlife? Is this Valhalla?". No. They were still alive, yet, the beauty compelled them to believe that soon they'd hear
Gjallar in the distance. They called it
Vínland. Land of the Winds, Land of Meadows.
The Great Iron Crown
Akershus, a Stone fortress surrounded on every side by a great city of red tile roofs and white walls. Overlooking the Skagerrak, the great oceanic passage to the North Sea. Here, behind great Iron doors, in the grey castle that lay upon a hill, the royal throne of the king of Norway was found. He who sat upon it would be King of the alpine realm. Hjalmar Magnusson, great descendent of Harald Hadrada, ruled this land. A land of great tundra wastes and colossal white capped mountains. Magnusson was discontent, great as he might be, the world did not recognize him for what he was. Norway has lived through a gratuitous epoch of unprecendented peace. A peace that Hjalmar could not wait to break. His castle's bleak, silent, empty halls echoed his thoughts. As a child, Hjalmar was fascinated by stories of old, he relished the fact he had recorded many of the legendary sagas. His Father was a blunt and rational man, nurturing him to be able to sail his own ship and fight with his own arms. Hjalmar was not without his faults though, enjoying luxury far too much than he should and often undermining his servants. He was, however, a capable ruler and one of many ambitions and dreams.
Hjalmar dined in a long wooden table, wines, meats and desserts were of plenty. Seated together with His Majesty were many courtiers, relatives and nobles. Everyone was enjoying the spoils of their work, cherishing the everlasting peace. His Majesty drank his last drip of white champagne before breaking the silence:
"Subjects, Friends and Relatives. I request your attention please." All turned to His Majesty, as he stood above his seat.
"Thank you All for coming today. Today is a momentous day, a day to remember forever, I, King of Norway, Iceland and Súðreyjar, have a proposition for you all to consider." The many guests dropped their cutlery to give their King full attention. Hjalmar called in two guards to his side, both grasped a muddy stone capped with bright green moss. On the stone many noticed runes and symbols engraved. Immediatley Hjalmar began to speak
"Here, before you, I present a stone. This stone has engraved in it details and descriptions of the legendary Eric the Red, former exile and explorer." People gasped and stared.
"Could this really be the stories of Eric the Red?" Immediatley Haakon Haakonsson, Duke and Chief of Jämtland stood.
"What is the meaning of this Hjalmar, you bring a stone here and then claim it's the saga of Eric the red?! You can't expect us to belie-" Hjalmar interrupted his childhood friend for a moment.
"You see Haakon, this is no ordinary ordeal, this no forgery of any kind. This is the engravings of the Eric the Red's Saga, the long lost legends from Iceland." The king cleared his throat for a moment.
"This my friends is my proposition, we shall use this knowledge to once again find our old territories. This shall be the year the world remembers Norway!" Haakon hit the table before speaking, throwing off some cutlery.
"Damn it man, this isn't the time to be chasing fairy tales! We live in an era of peace. Chasing down legends will only serve to destroy the prosperity we have fostered."
Hjalmar III Magnusson
Hjalmar wanted to avoid an argument at all costs, but alas he was too foolish to have thought all would agree.
"Haakon, you out of all people should understand why I ask for this. Why do you so oppose an expedition that will honour our ancestors? Will this also not bring us Prosperity? Haakon did not want to say it anything explicitly, despite caring very much for his friend, he could not allow Hjalmar to humiliate himself with dissapointment, he had to say it.
"Hjalmar, we all do respect, chasing your childhood dreams does not a king make!" Everyone look astonished. Humiliating the King infront of his subjects was the only time Haakon had crossed the line. When Haakon finally relaxed he realized what he had done.
"Your Majesty! Oh please do not punish me for this! My Hundred of apologies!" Haakon humbled himself before Hjalmar, laying on his knees the hotheaded noble has never been seen so desperate to apologise. Hjalmar went around the table to Haakon, his slow steps sent shivers down Haakon's spine. When Hjalmar's feet was in view, Haakon looked up to see his friend reach for his shoulder. It was a sign of mercy, Hjalmar stood his friend up and whispered.
"Do not humiliate me again, I'll excuse your mishap, but you need to leave respectively as my other subjects do, friend." Haakon nodded and left the dining room. In the corner was the Chief of Narvik, Sigmar Olafsson, a detestable man, Hjalmar tolerated his presence because of the request of the nobles. Sigmar put down his crystal glass to speak.
"Excuse me sire, but how can you tolerate this humiliation? He has offended you has he not? You should behead him, you have the moral right to do so." Hjalmar ignored Sigmar to conclude his proposition.
"I propose a fleet of 30 ships prepare to leave Trondheim by Dawn Tomorrow, from there they will stop in Reykjavik and make way west towards our ancient lands." It was agreed unanimously, Norway would send ships west.
Thirty ships were organized, 10 Carracks and 20 Skeid Longships, the expedition had a total of 5,000 involved, 3,500 sailors, 1,000 soldiers and 500 civilians and specialists. The Expedition was to be lead by prestigious and renown Explorer Bjorn Fabelaktige. At the breaking of Dawn the lead ship
Tyr set sail.
Tyr was a Skeid Longship, the biggest of it's kind, adorned with one symbol of the old god it's named after, a steel medallion to his honour, this ship was known to break the ice as it sailed it legendarily acquired the nickname
Ísbrotsjór because of this. Crossing the North Sea was second knowledge to any experienced norwegian sailor, travels to and from Iceland and the Hebrides were common enough that sailors would learn from their seniors the best routes to and from the Kingdom's realms beyond the sea. As the Fleet approached Reykjavik an anxious feeling increased in every sailor and soldier, this was the last stop before going to the unknown. Rumours spread among the crew that there was nothing beyond Iceland, a few lucky opportunists managed to desert the expedition, others were not so lucky, being interned into the ships' brigs or Reykjavik's constables. When the next day arrived, twilight set on the sea, the orange waves woke the expedtionaries to the momentous day. The masts were released, striped red and white, blue and yellow, yellow and red. The colours painted on the masts presented each ships' allegiance, the standard Yellow-Red became the king's standard. The Sailors began a hard trek across the deep blue ocean that crossed their path, the treacherous open ocean was a terrifying precedent to cross, no other had done it except the legendary Eric the Red, these men would prove themselves sons of Eric at it's crossing. In the dim and dark night, in the realm of
Hodr, a shift in the wind could be felt, a strong wind from a single direction overpowered the others, it didn't make sense, how could the wind have changed so suddenly with such strength. Soon it was uncovered below the mist, rocky shores, green prairies and clear skies. The expedition hit land, a land unlike any other, the moon shined it's white rays on to the shore.
"Was this Vinland?" "Could it be possible we made it?".
The Long Ships were beached on the shingle beach, the carracks maintained position outside the coast as to avoid the stacks and skerries that plague the coast. A clearing was discovered not too far from where the Longships landed, here the carracks would approach the bay. The beachhead was secured, from here Bjorn would setup camp, Tyr landed on the rock filled beach, the stones barely leaving a mark on the massive Skeid. The day seemed to be cloudy, the sea was calm and the prairies quiet, this place reminded the norwegians of their home they left a few weeks ago. As midday had been reached, the camp had been setup from the longships and the remaining supplies from the carracks offshore, scouts were sent out to scour the land nearby. The green meadows and forests were certainly more hospitable than Iceland's frigid soil, a few wild animals could be spotted, even more curiously was the existence of human, the scouts upon spotting the man hurried back to camp to warn the rest of the party. By Noon's end the Scouts had arrived with the news, men lived here. Bjorn was nothing more than astounded, but before he turned around to face the scouts, Bjorn opened a small brown wooden chest, in it old parchment, he laid it on the makeshift table. The scouts curiously looked at the scroll, it had inscriptions and runes of old, only so much could be understood of it. In the saga, it is described that Eric's party had landed and settled
Vínland, the villages existing for over 200 years. It couldn't be, were these men their long lost brothers?